Saturday, August 29, 2009

Revolution Factory Presents. . . . .


Chapter 1

It was a pale green dusk. Fog was the only remnants of an earlier storm which had already rolled through the forest. Crickets screaming off in the shadowy distance at each other. Above, the cloud-slate sky projects a pale shade on the green environment while everything quickly fades to night. But the tone of pale endures. The crickets are the only noise in the dark damp forest, but not the only inhabitants. They gradually calm to silence while the troubled twilight invades. Two forces softly, slowly, and stealthily approach each other in the forest. It is now pure dark. The night is here. The match is set. The opponents a stone's throw away.

What would look like a fleet of lightning bugs and fire-flies from a distance is really a militia of teal blue eyes marched up against a long line of golden red eyes; all of which floating relatively equal above the soiled floor in the misty forest. Dusk gives way to Night, and night unrelentingly gives way to war. All the creatures of the forest clear the immediate area to avoid the upcoming battle. The lingering mist mixes with the high tensions and creates a thick layer of fog. Clouds within the forest treeline now rival the clouds swimming above in the night's skyline. The pale color ever present. It was the year 1516, in a forest in Navarre, Basque Country. Twenty-four years after Columbus sailed the ocean blue to the New World.

Mercer was a soldier. He, along with his comrades, slowly eased their way closer and closer to the enemy front. Mercer's soft, padded foot enabled him to step along the cold wooded floor unheard. This was Mercer's first battle. Long had he trained for this moment. In his kingdom, utmost priority was put on border warfare. Subjects of the Basque Country were bred for war, and trained their entire lives to be soldiers. Mercer was no different. And yet, fear dripped off him like drool from a fang, for he did not care. He basked in the anticipation of combat. Mercer knew he was a fierce warrior, and he was now ready to prove it to everyone. His comrades, his elders, his enemies, and most of all...his family. One of 11 siblings, three sisters and seven brothers, Mercer was the youngest and had the most to prove. All his brother's were already well-established warriors, and crawled in the dark forest somewhere alongside Mercer tonight. But he did not want their help. He did not need their help. He was fine on his own. He could practically taste the warmth of the spilled blood soon to come tantalizing his mouth. He did not want to wait any longer, but he could not just jump out and attack at will, he was no general. So he waited in eager despair. His mind playing tricks on him, making him see his enemy when they were not really there. He shrugged off the hallucination. It was just the excitement of being in his first real battle. He was no fool, no novice. That is what he told himself. The thick fog was pulled up to the canopy, like a curtain, revealing a terrifying truth.

The air thinned, the temperature dropped, the sky opened up, and with a loud crackle a bolt of lightning chaotically cut through the trees. A flash of light followed by a vast downpour consumed the forest instantly transforming the battlefield. In the lightning's flash Mercer could now see his enemy. Long rows and regiments of red foxes growling and showing their teeth. Now in the light of the storm the seal was broken and the two forces came crashing down upon each other. Mercer jumped up from his crouched position and sprinted head to head at the approaching fox-line. He honed in on one of them and upon contact pinched its throat with his long mouth and sharp teeth. He rolled over the ensnared fox with his locked jaw as an anchor and they both tussled on the ground. Mercer tore the fox's throat out of its neck. He spat it out as he got back to his feet, and the discarded throat fell onto the fox's carcass haphazardly. He quickly kicked into a sprint and found his next target. The fox he was aiming for would be no victim and turned his sights on Mercer. Right before they collided, Mercer ran up a neighboring tree and leaped off of it, coming down hard on the enemy fox. Mercer broke its back as it fell uncontrollably to the floor. Mercer stood back up from the collision and looked down at the mortally wounded fox. He turned his head slightly at the obscured sight of the twisted beast. Instead of finishing him off, Mercer left the fox there and moved on. He returned to his sprint and now rushed the oncoming line of foxes at a perpendicular angle. Tackling fox upon fox and tearing up each one's ribcage with his sharp bloodstained teeth, he rendered a good amount of them useless and limp on the battlefield floor. Mercer was flawless in his battle strategy. The entire fox army was rushing past him concentrating on his comrades. His flanking maneuver was successfully catching them off-guard. Soon the entire enemy force was split and disorientated. They were scattered and flustered; divided and soon to be conquered.

The storm was letting up, and it was well into the night. The mood of the battle was leaning towards victory and conclusion. Mercer trotted through the now: muddled and frenzied battleground, with no clear line formations, and frightful foxes scattering every-which-way. Mercer was looking for his brothers to show them how well he had done. He jogged, arrogantly, with more than ten red fox-tails dangling from his mouth. He was practicing in his head how, after he had found them, and spat out the tails, he would say, "and these are just the ones I was able to keep in my mouth while I collected the others!" But when he came upon his kin, he also came upon a disparaging sight. Four of his brothers stood around the three other brothers who had, unfortunately, fell victim to the ultimate price of war...death. Mercer dropped down in between his brothers and began to weep uncontrollably. Thoughts of bragging about his successes fleeing into the past. The present was death and mortality. Mercer no longer felt untouchable, a lesson that would serve him well in the future. Mercer was reminded of his status as youngest in the family, when he looked up at his brothers with tear-filled eyes, and found that none of them were crying. They were just standing around their fallen brothers, emotionless, with their heads bowed. Mercer got back up, pulled himself together, and tried to mimic his brave brothers.

The brothers mourned for a while. There was no longer any concern for the battle. The rain had stopped. All the remaining foxes had now retreated. The first light from the sun had shuttered through the trees and reached Mercer. He let the warmth wash over his face. The battle was over. And his victory and success had already been forgotten. The foxes retreated back over their border to France. Mercer, a young Spanish Wolfe of the Basque Country, had survived his first border skirmish.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Flood of Darkness


Dr. Arthur Randolph's Journal

"November 12"

"It has been two weeks since Philip came back to us... Even conscious, every day is a crap-shoot. So far, we have managed this much, he is no longer in the intensive care wing, and his wounds have all healed. If this was a forum for diagnoses most other doctor's would ask, 'then what is the outstanding problem?' And my response would simply be...his blood. He is still very weak. His blood can still clot, as shown by the scars that have formed over his eye sockets. Wicked fleshy goggles in a fury of uneven X's. No amount of cosmetic surgery will be able to cure him of his facial disfigurement. It is truly sad, and appalling, what those monsters over-seas did to him, but at least he is still alive.
On a side note, Dr. Fitzsimons is acting increasingly irritable towards me. The longer I keep him here and attempt to cure him, the more there is a chance the doctor loses his only lead on the ever elusive plant. Time will only tell how this will play out, but I will always be there to make a plea for Philip's well-being, rather than turning him over to the US Military, who got him in this situation in the first place, and sealing his fate as a lab rat. It is up to me to keep Fitzsimons at bay.
Back to his blood...yes it is strong enough to clot and flow normally, but some unknown factor is tainting it to suppress the patient's ability to make a full recovery. In short, he does not have enough strength to get out of bed. As if some force is draining the life from his blood. All tests come back confirming his normal condition. All but the most basic, his blood-pressure. This is some case, the most rare I have ever come across and I am certain it is all because of this suspicious plant.
On a lighter note, Philip has been spending some much needed time with his family mending bridges which have apparently been burnt for many years. That is all for now, tomorrow I will decide whether or not he is ready to be discharged under home care. I will remain his doctor, but there is no longer any need for him to stay in the hospital. For we have run every test, dozens of times. And progress, has seemed to come to a complete halt . . ."

Sarah Thompson-Dresden's Diary

"November 14"

"I have been going to see Philip for days straight, and it has been taking an awful toll on me. Still no answers on why he left me-us, why he left us all here in Oklahoma. His Mother, his Father, his Grandfather, and his. . . wife. . . Poor Philip, but it seems that his dissatisfaction with life has finally caught up with him in fate. For as long as I can remember Philip, he has never been happy. That is, except the first day I met him and the day of our wedding.
I remember it like it was yesterday, one of the best memories of my life. I'm sure it is written somewhere in the deep passages of this diary, but I feel it will do me good to write about it again. . . .
It was the Millennium Carnival at Oaks Park. He was the most handsome man there. I remember coming off the tilt-a-whirl with my cousin Susan, and her pointing him out by the game stands. Holding that black sleek rifle in his hand, we went over to watch him. For there was already a crowd forming behind him. He was shooting the star out of a piece of paper unlike any person I have ever seen do it before. He shot out the outline of the red star first and then with one last pellet, pushed the star perfectly out of the hole. It seemed magical, unnatural. Everyone looked in amazement, even the guy working the stand. He gave him choice of any prize. He grabbed a lion almost as tall as the tiny little guy behind the stand handing it over to him. When he turned around, the group watching him seemed to have startled him as we all clapped at his achievement. He panned the audience and stopped at me.

My heart skipped a beat.

His dark brown eyes pinned me down with affection. He walked over and I passed a giggle along to my cousin. My cheeks flushed red as he was now clearly approaching me. I looked around and then deemed it important to be the first to speak. And so I said, 'That's some prize you got yourself, there" and then he responded as only prince charming would, 'I'm glad you like it...I won it for you.' As he handed the ambitious lion over to me. My cousin was speechless. The same went for me before I managed to squeak out an offer to match his gift, 'would you like to go on the Ferris wheel with me?' He nodded his head and together we walked over to the Ferris wheel. I must have got lost in the moment for I forgot about my cousin. I looked back for my cousin's permission and she was already motioning me to go along with him. It was the most beautiful ride I ever went on. We bonded more in those short moments than we did our entire marriage. Ironic, that after that ride I already knew I was going to marry him.
It was not long before his underlying dread surfaced in our relationship. His resentment towards his parents. His self-loathing. His hatred for everything that made up the outside world. The man I discovered at the game stand had vanished. For the longest time, he made me feel like I was the only thing keeping him from going under. And I thrived off that memento. And then, the day after our marriage, he was gone, enlisted. And ever since then I have been racking my brain to figure out what happened on that day that was the breaking point for him. Forever picking up the pieces of our shattered life together. For months I stared at the divorce papers I had written up. Stared and cried. In those dark days for me, I found some peace in talking with his parents. Our bonds grew in the shadow of his abandonment.
My own parents had passed away a long time ago. And because of that I shunned Philip's parents up until he left. In fact, I took strongly to his Grandfather, a sweet, wise, none judgmental old man. I loved him so whole-heartedly that I asked him to walk me down the aisle at the wedding. But afterwards, he grew very sick and was checked into the hospital. And so i turned to the only other people that could sympathize with me, Philip's parents. They told me he was always selfish, but not in the normal way. He was never an immature child. He was dark in his self-absorption, constantly loathing over his unfulfilled life. His parents never knew what to do. It never really affected his social life or schoolwork. And yet, he never blamed anyone for his misgivings, that is. . . outwardly. Over time, especially after his departure, I began to realize his subtle resentment towards all of us. And now he is back, and the veil has been lifted from my naive eyes. But for now he is so weak, I dare not confront him with all these hard feelings. Right now, he needs me, and poor be it for but I need him. Oh, how I've missed him. And in missing him have I hated him. But all the same he is back. And he will answers my questions. The questions he ran away from.
So far, I have sat in the background and watched his parent's deal with his misery. And all he has talked about is his drug-induced dreams. Dreams of being eaten and summoned by a storm. A god he called it. I just hope he is now not brought to the psych ward. He is scaring us. And all along, his tone and mannerisms have changed. In fact, I thought once, just yesterday, that he smiled at me. A smile I have not seen since the Ferris wheel. I quickly brushed it off as something I made myself see, but now...looking back, I think it was real. I sense excitement in his voice, for once. . .
Just writing this out I am seeing him with new eyes. Maybe I will hold off on the questions I have rounded up for him in the past years and ask him a new set of questions. Questions about these dreams, and his new found purpose. Whether it is real or not real, it has revealed a new twinkle in his eye. Oh, his eyes. His dark hypnotizing eyes. I used to lie beside him, in the bedroom, and just get lost in them. And now... now I can barely stand to look at-

I have stumbled across a topic in my ramblings that I have tried to stay away from in my mind. His bandages have been permanently removed, and in place of them pale scars crossing over his eye-sockets in wild 'X's' It is hard to look at, his face has been mutilated. And now, looking his worst, his attitude is at an all time high! Sick, how twisted and cynical life can be. As if he was waiting for this devastation to happen. As if he feels better in the trenches. Perhaps, that is why he joined the military. Poor Philip, never happy with an easy life. This sense of truth sends a shiver down my back as I think about what his future may hold. If the destruction of his eyes has started up his smile once again, lord knows what else has to happen to him. If this is the formula that makes up Philip's fate. Suffering through pain to happiness. I can only hope, his strength will endure. His parents feel the same way as I do. We have had long talks about it. I like to think that there is something more to do with it, that he is not a masochist. Tomorrow, I will go in and get him alone. Then I will talk to him, in detail about his dreams, and what significance his has pulled from them. For now I put my nuptial qualms at bay, and try to help the man I once loved. For hopes, that one day, I may love him I did that day on the Ferris wheel....

Dr. Fitzsimons Journal

"November 15"

"Today, I walked in on an interesting conversation Corporal Dresden was having with his wife. I made no attempt to join the conversation but listened intently. They were talking about his dreams while he was under. He described them in frightful detail. As if he really thought he was there. She was giving me a cold look, like she wanted to be alone with him that I caught out of my peripheral vision. I merely pretended both not to see her and like I was doing some important test. And so they talked on. He made reference to a god, an 'Asunder God' to be exact. It's name: The Storm Harvester. He told his wife how it was going to cure him. I can only assume he was talking of his blindness. Just as long as he followed it's command. When his wife asked him what that entailed he said he did not know, all he knew was that he had to wait for it's 'sign'. Another interesting aspect of their conversation was what the Storm Harvester was after. 'The Divine Catalyst' he called it. Philip said it was hiding on earth, from, what he gathered was, the human race. Philip put together himself that these two 'forces' were responsible for life on earth, and in doing so, as he explained to his wife, sealed their doomed fate. As a scientist I can't help but dissect these theories and come to one exciting conclusion. The 'Divine Catalyst' is the mystery plant he was introduced to in Afghanistan. And Philip is the 'Storm Harvester'. It is merely a sub-conscious projection using his lucid dreams as a vehicle to show that Philip wants to find the plant, and in doing so. . . cure his condition. So, Philip will eventually lead himself back to the plant. And now, I will, happily, change my entire strategy. I will ease off the dimwitted attending, Dr. Randolph. And allow him to discharge Dresden from the hospital. Then I will keep a close eye on him and play to his delusions. Hopefully, these dreams will turn to fruition and he will acquire a means of retrieving the plant. And I will be by his side every step of the way. And when the opportunity comes...I will take the plant for myself, and drop Dresden back into the slums of the Hindu Kush. I will discard him like the pawn that he is and gain all the fame and recognition for myself. As I rightfully deserve, my time has finally come, and nothing will get in my way. I will make one of the most important discoveries in human history. And alone I will stand on top of society. As the leading scientist of the modern age . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I, Doctor Mordechai Isaac Fitzsimons will have the entire world in the palm of my hand."

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Flood of Darkness: NEW CHAPTER!

Coming August 14th . . .

. . . EPISODE FOUR . . .

"... Even conscious, every day is a crap-shoot"...
"... We bonded more in those short moments than we did our entire marriage"...
"I will discard him like the pawn that he is and gain all the fame and recognition for myself"...